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• 6th Frostfall May 24, 2012

  6th Frostfall 4E 201
  Windpeak Inn, Dawnstar
  
  Well! The past two days have been surprising, to say the least. I am somehow, though, not the least bit surprised to find myself writing this journal entry at the 8th hour of the morning. It seems that I am to be doomed to strange sleeping habits. At least I am not as tired as I was when last I wrote. I shall aim for brevity, however, as though I do not find myself as sheer exhausted - I am to euphoric for that - my hand is shaking and I've nearly spilled my ink twice. (At least the room I have been given is solitary and contains a desk. A desk! It is so good to be able to stretch my legs a bit, and unburden myself of my armour. But yes. Brevity.)
  
  I woke in the afternoon of the 4th feeling quite refreshed. Enough so that I determined that I wasn't going to bother tracking down an enchanter, but simply head out into the Hjaalmarch right off. It was only early afternoon so I bargained on the light holding for a few hours, at least. I headed out to Ustengrav. (If the Greybeards have been following me, or if they are to ever read this, I'm sure they will think "well, FINALLY". It is scarce believable to me that it has been only a month since I was assigned that task.)
  
  I made it to Ustengrav with little trouble, only to find that bandits had set up camp - and one bandit was in it, fighting with a necromancer. I let them fight it out and then dispatched the necromancer and her follow-along corpse handily. It seems that the bandits had arrived at Ustengrav first, intending to loot the place (I cannot blame them - much of my money is from graverobbery), and then a cabal of mages - not all necromancers, interestingly enough - had showed up with similar intent.
  
  Whatever happened, I found numerous foes already killed for me, and others weakened when I faced them. Most convenient! If only all my crawls through old ruins were so genial. Once I reached a place that neither bandits nor mages had been, there were only a few draugr and then some skeletons. Almost a disappointment, after that mess with Potema. But then I came upon a most curious mechanism for opening gates which would either require several people handy or someone able to Shout a Whirlwind Sprint.
  
  This, then, was the test of my Voice the Greybeards spoke of, I suppose. Getting through the gates wasn't too difficult, once it did occur to me to use my shout (I rarely think of them, I confess - I really don't make much of a dragonborn!). The fire-vent filled floors in the hallways following were a bit more of an issue (I think my poor boots are going to need repair soon - a hassle, considering they're enchanted), but the biggest obstacle I ended up facing was three spiders.
  
  Well. Two weren't bad, but then there was a giant one. A giant frostbite spider. Whoever thought that giant frostbite spiders were a good idea - whatever Aedra or Daedra favours them! - has my eternal loathing. Blasted, Shor-cursed thing. Nearly had me good, I was saved only by my scrambling back into a corner it couldn't reach and quaffing healing potions.
  
  Past the spider I came upon a bridge in an apparently empty room. As I made approach, two enormous dragonhead statuettes reared up from the water on either side. I still do not know what they do - breathe fire, like as not - for I was feeling skittish and simply sprinted across. (Or rather, Sprinted - Shouting a Whirlwind to propel me is a most disconcerting sensation, and I gave my head a good bang in the tunnels while I was doing so.)
  
  The horn was not there. There was, instead, a note. A note addressed to 'the Dragonborn' and asking that I go to the Sleeping Giant Inn. Ha! If they think they'll be seeing ME any time soon, they are much mistaken. Riverwood is even further out of my way than Mzulft - and Mzulft has my cursed horse at it! Fah. Typical, really, that this would be the outcome of me actually attending to my 'dragonborn duties'. Tullius was the one who suggested I pay them more attention - Ustengrav in particular - in the few days I have before we meet to take Winterhold.
  
  When I emerged from Ustengrav, having gone down at an early hour of the morning (I slept in a bedroll the evening I found Ustengrav, I should mention), it was again afternoon. Late afternoon this time, however, and I decided that it was more worth it to press onwards to Dawnstar than to go back to Solitude for the night. I have a certain amount of leeway with my actions, but there is still a deadline for arriving at the Winterhold encampment.
  
  Though I have not yet slept since the night of the 4th, I am not sorry that I did.
  
  This was my second time in Dawnstar, and it was odd to come at it from the road, rather than by my previous route of up the shoreline. On my way there, I came across a burnt out house - I do not know if it was the bandits, the mages, or someone else entirely. Part of me cringes inside and thinks it may have been a dragon. Certainly the fire still burnt with unusual strength.
  
  But I digress. I entered the inn, the very one I sit in now, in early evening, just previous to sunset. I had every intention of renting a room and collapsing into my bed, with a bellyful of fresh stew and ale. When I entered, however, several locals were talking with a priest about nightmares. I could not help but listen in, and as I did, I remembered that on my previous visit to Dawnstar - on some small business I can no longer recall, but many weeks before now - there had been talk of strange dreams. It seems they have been suffering from these nightmares for quite a long time.
  
  I was getting disturbed enough to start seriously considering leaving and going back to the bandit camp for the night - I have nasty enough nightmares without the help of a curse or (as it turned out to be) Daedric attentions. But just then the locals broke off and I found myself standing alone with the priest they had been talking with. A priest of Mara, a Dunmer named Erandur. Ah, Erandur! I did not even notice that he was a dunmer at first, such was the light and the cast of his hood.
  
  We spoke, and he said that he knew what was causing the nightmares and asked my help in ridding Dawnstar of it. He seemed to know an awful lot about Vaermina and the following up in the tower, and I thought so at the time, but when I mentioned it he pleaded out of answering and I did not press. There is much in my past that others would not understand, or that I am not proud of, too. Certain recent events still weigh heavy on my mind...
  
  But no matter. Though it was near the 7th hour of the evening, Erandur was insistent on remedying the problem as soon as possible. With a regretful look at the pot of stew the innkeep had going, I agreed that acting now was probably best. For the folk of Dawnstar and, admittedly, for myself - I did not fancy spending a night in a nightmare ridden town. And the problem intrigued me, in some way I cannot pin down. Perhaps it was a touch of foresight of what was to come, of what I was to learn - and of what I was to find.
  
  Perhaps not. But surely being Azura's Champion must be good for something, yes? (Erandur has just come in and peered over my shoulder, the nosy twat, and commented that the Daedra are fickle at best. He tries that again, I'll swat him! Pest. I've shooed him off to bed.)
  
  TBC

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